


The Wanderer and the Mechanic.

by JustACapybara



Category: League of Legends
Genre: M/M, also yeah this involves sex, and he really likes shipping him with rumble, be advised dickings will happen, because he really likes his strong bart boy, he seems satisfied, i hope you will be too, so i really wrote this to try and make him happy, this was made for a friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:06:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23152198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustACapybara/pseuds/JustACapybara
Summary: A strange figure, a shady bar, a loud-mouthed brat under the moonlight's gaze. Destiny played a hand, or luck was on their side. A chance meeting was all they needed to blossom from each other.
Relationships: Bartolomé X Rumble (League of Legends + OC)
Kudos: 1





	The Wanderer and the Mechanic.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bara Veigar (A friend!)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Bara+Veigar+%28A+friend%21%29).



A night in Bandle like any other.

Most people slept soundly, some wandered the streets in search of adventure in plain sight, others watched these wanderlust fools from their windowsills, barely stifling their laughs as the younglings passed by, all decked out in the gear of Scouts or Gunners, some even Engineers!

One such engineer made people slide away from the windows or scoff, plain and loudly for him to hear. An engineer of renown, both hated and despised, and occasionally commissioned for something only a fool would dare attempt. And succeed, spectacularly.

When he didn't fail of course. Which was often. But he wouldn't admit such nonsense.

The mohawk-sporting runt also searched for adventure, but mainly inside a seedy bar, and on the bottom of a bottle. Or on the alley with a stranger, either worked. He swung both ways and wielded his personality like a bat, mainly by annoying and hurting anyone who tried to get closer than he allowed. And hitting himself with it too while drunk. He was a mess. But the people who frequented said bars were also a mess, and they didn't mind a cute runt to get drunk and do something stupid with.

Opening the doors to one of the said bars, a building erected to be as yordlely shady as possible. The people in Bandle really didn't have much to do, being nearly immortal furballs with superior intellect and strength. And since one can only handle being called 'cute' and 'adorable' and 'a pet' by a human so many times, they made their own fun in Bandle City. This being the spot the bad guys, clandestine loves and actual bad people met. Rumble being the last one.

The place was lit up by mana salts, bright sparks harmlessly jumping out of stylized Noxian lamps, giving the whole place a beautiful deep blue lighting that was as mysterious as it was pretty. The tables were rough looking, rustic and made out of a dark wood imported out of Bilgewater to give the place even more of a grimdark, dubious vibe. Nets, weapons and skulls dotted the walls, all of them unsharpened (including the skulls' teeth), and made to be as safe as possible. Everyone just did this for fun. Gods knew they were all nearly immortal, the only thing a bar fight would get was annoying everyone and being a dick. And the few people who were there for shady dealings weren't fighters. Like Rumble, though today he was there to drink and maybe pick someone up! As he was every other day.

Sitting on the counter and ordering the same as always, 'whatever is the cheapest you have', Rumble counted the copper coins he had. He may have done daring, insane feats that would get him regarded as a revolutionary in Piltover, but this was Bandle City. Someone learned how to tear a portal into a new dimension every other weekend. A mech, his beloved T.R.I.S.T.Y.? Daring, to be sure. Mostly because he cobbled it out of scrap wires, torn plates, and rusty metal. It wasn't his intelligence that made Rumble who he was, but how amazingly crafty he could be. His smarts played a part on it, of course, but even Heimerdinger and a group of his best students couldn't hope to achieve the jury-rigged, barely held together machines of war and general usefulness like Rumble did. Especially not with the materials he was given! Resourceful, and smart.

To the demise of everyone who'd be curious or stupid enough to listen, however, he looooooooved to boast about both of those qualities. It's not like he had any other things to boast about.

And as he drank out of a barely clean bottle of watered beer and began talking about himself, someone walked in. Someone a little out of the ordinary for everyone else. Wich was saying something, for a bunch of misfits and wannabes.

Tall, for a Yordle. A good three feet six, maybe more. An axe heavy as the fists that would clutch it, sharp as the deep crimson gaze he turned to his peers, as decorated and beautiful as mane adorning the stranger's features. Almost chimeric in nature, with broad ears reminiscent of a bat, a dark mane out of a particularly broody kind of Lion mayhaps, and the red eyes of a crimson beast.

The dark blue lights of the establishment, already hard to see through due to all the smoke from the fog machines (not many Yordles were into cigars, and so they weren't allowed inside.) hid the tall figure's more delicate features. The usual chatter fell to silence, with few exceptions.

A rowdy, mohawked Yordle included.

The stranger wasn't exactly well dressed, but neither was he armored like Poppy or even Kled. A shoulder pad, cape, and pants were all he wore. The Axe's sheath comfortably attached to a pristine leather belt. The man looked like he had walked straight out of the Freljord, and was about to burst into song.

He didn't.

Taking slow yet long steps, staring daggers and spears at anyone who didn't back out from the front of him, he walked to the counter, where an already tipsy Rumble continued to talk about the time he built a radio out of scraps he found, casually forgetting to mention that said scraps included quite a few radios in slightly better condition. The warrior sat beside him with a thud, sizing him up before asking for the same thing as the runt, which seemed to finally shut him up.

"Oh... hello," Rumble spoke with a sultry tone soon after, smiling. "Haven't seen you around before."

"I'm... Bartolomé, darlin'." He spoke, gently and low, trying to match the other. Polite enough to glance at his direction, but awkward enough to not look again. He sounded tired. Now that he had sat down, he looked tired too. And as he drank what he had ordered, he looked annoyed.

"You come to a bar to drink water?" He asked with a chuckle, the few patrons nearby following suit, and those further away chuckling alongside in fear of what this warrior might do.

"It's not water, it's beer, and it's not my fault you're big enough to drink a keg and not get a little woozy, you big fuck."

This time, the bar truly went silent.

Before Bartolomé started to laugh, that is.

His bellowing laughter was that of a God, so gentle and sweet and full of joy. It wasn't mocking, it wasn't undermining Rumble... it was happy.

"You have a horrible taste in beer, sweetie." He bellowed, placing a small purse of gold coins onto the counter. "Please! Buy these people any drink they want. And buy this one the best you have to offer."

The crowd erupted in cheers.

Rumble, however, was not impressed even as he was handed a glass of whiskey some Piltovian barons might kill someone with their grubby, metal hands to get. "You think this is gonna win me over?" He scoffed. "I mean, it's working, but if you wanted to get me in bed you just had to ask..."

While Bartolomé looked at him in confusion, trying to puzzle what 'getting me in bed' meant, Rumble fancied himself the whole glass. A grave mistake, as the alcohol felt like it was literally burning his digestive track as it went down. Coughing loudly at the uncomfortable feeling it washed over him.

"Oh! You mean, sleep with you." Bart spoke out loud, smiling at the choking and gasping runt. "I don't have anywhere to stay in town, that would be nice, yes."

"Shit, gh... ok, yeah, sure, I'll, let you sleep with me, Angels almighty what the fuck do they put in this?" He stared inside the cup, hoping to see some particles of what might be poison to explain his state. Nothing.

"Maybe you need to rest?"

"I'd need something to get me real tired. And some water, ugh..." Maybe he did prefer watered-down beer after all. These fancy drinks felt awful, tasted disgusting and went down as smooth as sandpaper.

"Bartender! Water, if you may."

"Yeah, water, I think my liver might just shoot itself if I don't have some. Fuck."

"Aha, that was just a glass. Maybe I'm not strong at all. Maybe you just can't handle a bottle?"

"I can handle a bottle very well thank you."

"Oho, oh?"

"You ask any of these suckers if, fuck, a-hem, you ask any of 'em if they can build a Mech while under the influence. They can't! I make robots. I make COOL shit. I make useful shit! And, gha, and I do it while drunk and I barely even get shocked. Like once or thrice. But I made a fucking harpoon shooting, burn stuff and electrocute anything around it OUT OF TRASH. You know how it goes, one man's..." He didn't know the rest, so he hoped to sound witty by just mentioning the part he knew.

Too bad Bartolomé had no clue about the rest. "One man's what?"

"I, uh, forget it."

"That sounds... somewhat impressive. What is a mech?"

"You ever been to Piltover?"

"Not yet."

"You know what a gun is."

"... uh-huh?"

"That, but like, you can also get inside it and move it around."

"Oh. Dare I say I think I will only believe that when I lay my eyes upon it!"

"Well, I think it's about time I go home anyway, and... wh-whew, and I think you should come too. I'll show you my mech. I'll show something else too."

Both of them got up, Bartolomé not even bothering to get his pouch back, letting the Bartender pass away glasses and bottles like a machine. He didn't really need money - truth be told, he didn't even know why he was here.

He did, but he wasn't sure about it. Or hopeful, at all.

A search for someone who might not even be alive. A search for a brother he never knew. A search for... family? Happiness? Something. He had enough of fighting the wilds and living off as a secluded lumberjack. Maybe he was ready, now. Ready to--

"Hey, uh, aren't you gonna follow me?" Rumble said from a ways back. Bartolomé was so lost in his thoughts that he had just kept walking. And being a lot taller than Rumble, catching up was pretty hard for the runt.

"You are... I only now realize how small you are." He said with a chuckle, walking back over to his friend. Friend? It may have been too early to say, but he didn't get much interaction in the forests of the Freljord. The occasional miller, looking for wood. Bu-

"HEY, can you, I swear I can almost hear you monologuing on your head. Can you... can we go to my place, I'm, feeling kind of woozy already. Fuck. I might need to piss. Ok you can stay monologuing, I'm gonna take a piss." Stumbling to an alley, Rumble did just what he said he would.

There was something... refreshing about his lack of care. Bartolomé cared. Too much, maybe! He did get lost in thought a lot. Maybe it was a side-effect of never having anyone to talk with. Just himself, his axe, and the faint and vague hope of someone he barely remembered, a child from two decades ago. His brother. His smile caught him off guard, his cheeks hurting from the grin of better times, of the future he and his brother could have. United at last. Someone in this world he could rely on, he could call family.

It was a nice thought.

Rumble was... sure taking his time though. And he didn't hear him complaining loudly. Maybe he had passed out? Hopefully not in a pool of his own filth. His concerns growing, he went into the alley, to find Rumble pinned to a wall and five average-sized yordles surrounding him and his attacker. 

"... And I'm telling you, I have someone with me, and I don't want to make you cry in front of my date and your little friends so LET ME GO you--"

"Rumble. I'm gonna ask again. And this time you'll shut up because otherwise, I'll choke the shit out of you."

"Oh, really tough gu-- GHHH!"

Making good on his promise, the assailant tightened his hands around Rumble's throat.

And that is when Bart stepped out of the star's lights and into the darkness with them.

It was... a terrifying sight.

In the darkness, he was a brute. The mane he sported, so well-groomed when illuminated by the yellow rays in the woods, looked like a misshapen horror. His eyes, piercing and gentle, adopted a downright menacing and mocking stance. His axe glinted from the small amount of light penetrating the alley, its sharp edge thickening into a heap of iron when connected to the base. The detailed engravings almost looked like runes or curses. And with his size?

They felt like they were staring at a demon.

Even the assaulting Yordle turned his head to see what was blocking the light, loosening up the grip on Rumble's neck and widening his eyes at the creature. And Rumble, the bastard he is, took the opportunity to claw at his face.

Terrified of the large being, and now with blood seeping into his fur from his cheeks, the 'leader' ran away, his friends soon following suit. Rumble laughed, despite being on his knees in this dirty, sooty alley.

"YEAH, I'LL GET IT BACK TO YOU, DON'T WORRY YOU SAD FUCK!" Rumble laughed, trying to get up. The only reason he didn't get a mouthful of gravel and dirt was Bartolomé, who gently carried him out of the alley.

"Are you ok...?" He asked, barely above a whisper.

"I feel GREAT. FUCK, those guys are dicks, and THEY. GOT. FUCKED. Did- you saw that, right? Whew, you're, you're lucky to have me, 'cuz they're assholes but they can be dangerous. Good thing I was there to protect you." He waved his finger at Bartolomé, barely able to point at him. The alcohol was clearly starting to take effect, and Rumble was a mess. Even more so than usual.

"Let's go to your home."

"Yeah let's fucking go, it's, uh, th... up the... yeah, up the hill, just, kinda, down this street and keep on trucking on... oh man I'm, whew. I'm thirsty." 

The road was long and the stars illuminated little, but few things could harm one in Bandle, mostly the people around you... but apparently, above all, yourself. The woman holding the Cannon that guided him to that bar commented about her and her boyfriend's injuries due to simple, silly mistakes. What a weird people. But maybe not too different from the ones he met in the cold forests. Happy fools lost in stories. Like him.

"Are you happy, Rumble?"

"I'm fublin' thirsty." Responded a sleepy, tired brat.

Chuckling, he made his way inside the warehouse, confused until he spotted the sad, pathetic bed stuck in a corner.

His heart sank.

"Rumble...? This is... where you sleep?"

"Yeh. S' where we're gonna fuck too."

"No."

"Whu?"

"No, Rumble, it's not where we are going to fuck. No--"

"Whoah! S-so you can swear."

"Yes, and if I need to, I will say fuck no. What you need is a bath and a good night's sleep. Now, come. Do you have a shower?"

"S'a lake nearby."

"That works perfectly."

Grabbing the mattress, coated in dirt and a barely held together with cloth, reeking of alcohol and sex, he dragged it and Rumble into the wilds just outside the warehouse and the Junkyard. Onto the only clean thing around those parts, a small lake with a healthy, albeit small population of fish. A beautiful clearing to the skies, with just enough trees to grant protection against the elements, and weirdly, make him feel at home. His heart was always in the woods. His mind, too. To escape the loss of his parents. His brother. His training, short as it was. It was... nice. The woods quieted his mind, even if his axe fell them. But such was sustenance. The hare feasts on the grass, the wolf feasts on the hare, the grass feasts on the carcass of both. And so it goes.

Setting the mattress under a tree, he undressed Rumble as tastefully as he could, despite the Runt's advances and lewd remarks, and pushed him onto the lake.

The water was a void of unimaginable discomfort, little things nipping and scratching by, so cold and so lifeless!

That's how the drunk perceived it, at least.

Shivering, he drank deep of the abysm and let it consume him until he couldn't breathe, emerging feeling renewed.

And as soon as he was out of the lake, he crashed like a meteor.

Bart this time wasn't there to help him, the Woodsman doing what he did best, snapping twigs and small trees with his bare hands, axe resting on his hip ready for any sort of more violent action, or a thicker tree. The soft thud alerted him, however, and with enough wood for a comfortably sized bonfire, he came across the limp body of a snoring, mud-coated Rumble.

It was... adorable, if it wasn't pathetic, and he didn't reek of alcohol, and he wasn't so desperate to fuck Bartolomé a few moments ago.

He set up the campfire before cleaning up Rumble, just so he wouldn't have the runt shivering in his sleep while the man dried him up. It'd help the fur get back to its natural shape instead of getting all puffy, too.

Now... now he did indeed look adorable. His mohawk down, thick from wetness. Laying on his filthy bed, snoring soundly, clutching Bartolomé for warmth.

And Bartolomé did not move.

Much, much later on, however, Rumble would awaken to find himself alone. A cape on top of him like a blanket, a splitting headache and the vague recollection of being brought here by a behemoth.

Oh, there he was.

A goliath bathed in the evening sun, his fur thick and heavy as the star that illuminated him, muscles clearly defined through his light fur. Somewhat womanly, some Yordles might say, but everything else attested his masculinity.

Rumble was breathless.

Bartolomé hadn't realized the runt had woken up, nor that he was being appreciated in his lavish, thorough bath.

"Hello," the Behemoth said, walking towards the shore. The water giving way to reveal more of his body, until everything was completely in view. "I guess, good morning."

Everything, was in view.

"H... i."

There was a hearty chuckle, and a slight wave of hand. "I thought you would appreciate the view. If it's making you uncom--"

"N-no, I just, I dunno, I was, shit, I didn't even..."

"... do you need a moment?"

"Yeah I think I do."

Laughing once again, Bartolomé landed a heavy hand on Rumble's shoulder as he passed by to dry himself, with the help of rags he found in Rumble's 'home' and the sun.

The Runt just sat there and... watched. Sure, Bartolomé already didn't wear any shirts to begin with, just a cape and pants that hid way too much way too well... but it was something else to see him standing in a field surrounded by trees, the sun blazing down upon his skin and fur, his crimson eyes occasionally glancing back at the adoring engineer. He nearly passed out holding his breath just out of sheer appreciation.

Finally done sunbathing, the taller Yordle didn't bother to dress up. "So... should I assume that what you said yesterday was all part of you being too drunk?

"W-wha? No, no, I was, completely sober and fine and I stand by every word I said."

"Including that you wanted me to..."

"Rearrange my guts, yes."

"Uh...

... I don't recall you saying that."

"Well I did now, and I stand by it. I want you to fuck me until I can't think straight. Just do it."

"Those are, some. Uh." The gentle giant's cheeks became as red as the blood flushed to them. And down below, too. "Those are... words, indeed."

"Bart, can I call you Bart?"

"Yes... I guess you can, yes."

"Bart, I want you to fuck me. It's not that deep. Heh. Ok it's that deep. Well I want it to be that deep..." Rumble's voice was sleazy, needy, perverse. 

"I'm not sure how comfortable I am with your... euphemisms."

"You seem pretty eager about them, actually."

Nervous, and unsure of how to proceed, Bartolomé just stepped closer. It was hard to formulate a coherent sentence when your possible lover was so... brash! So rude! But yet clearly in such need of care. Of love. Of someone to steer him right.

If that meant he also got to fuck the daylight out of him, that was just a bonus, honestly.

"Fine. So I am." He stepped closer, a boost of confidence as he saw Rumble recoiling, not out of fear, just a natural reaction from the small being to anything taller than him that wasn't made out of garbage. "Let me show you how eager I am."

Barely able to squeak, Rumble was grabbed by the hips and lifted up, pressed against the tree they used as a refuge in the cold night. His shorts slipped out slowly, to reveal the throbbing member, fitting for his size. Maybe even a bit bigger than Bart expected.

It was here Rumble learned that the man he had charmed last night wasn't just a top.

With surprising skill, the wandering warrior used his tongue and lips to please the other. His confused moaning and whimpering nearly overshadowed by his shallow breathing, unused to someone going down with so much passion. Bartolomé's fingers slowly spread Rumble, and inserted themselves, testing the resistance, how tight it could be, to even see if it would fit.

Thankfully for him, Yordles were stretchy.

As if being drunk-horny over this hunk all night long and being teased the whole morning with such a beautiful view wasn't enough, now two massive fingers were inside him, hitting all the right spots - though, with how eager he was, every spot was the right spot on this moment. Everywhere was so sensitive. Everything felt too good.

Rumble barely lasted a few minutes before his load coated Bartolomé's tongue.

It wasn't much, but it was enough to satisfy Bart.

"I should be on the receiving end this time, I think." Bartolomé purred, almost setting Rumble down.

"Fuck me."

"What?"

Rumble was completely out of breath, but as soon as he got just enough to fill his lungs, he repeated himself. "Fuck... me."

"I thought you'd be..."

"N-no, I'm great, I need you, please." The smile on his lips was sleepy, his eyes hazy, legs shaking. His cock was hard again. How much energy did this runt have? Even Bartolomé could only push himself a load or two in before having to take a break. Preferably to eat.

"Very well." Letting him down just enough that his hole was lined with Bart's cock, he thrust in. Slowly, of course. In most situations, his pre-cum alone wouldn't be enough to lube someone, but his cock was dripping with it. Rumble just had... an effect on him. Maybe it was the size difference; how big he was compared to this loud-mouthed brat, how his confidence gave way to nearly complete submission as soon as they got going. Rumble just struck a chord with him.

His grip pinned Rumble just a bit harder as his cock kept slipping in. It wasn't very long, but it was oh so thick. It hurt, somewhat, but Rumble was used to taking it in the ass in many ways other than just one. And if he didn't enjoy a bit of pain with his sex before, he had just learned something new about himself today.

Bart's eyes didn't stop making contact with Rumble's, who struggled to do the same. As soon as the whole thing was in, and that initial thrust turned into a slow pace, he pushed in for a kiss.

It was lewd, yes. Their tongues danced against each other, drool dripped from Rumble's lips, and he could even somewhat taste himself in Bartolomé's mouth. It was so weird. It was so... hot. Hot? Hot didn't feel right. It was too... simplistic. Hot didn't even begin to describe this. Bartolomé could've hugged him and he'd be in the same situation he was in right now. That wasn't hot, right? He didn't have a name for this, but he... he loved it.

But he also felt something that he couldn't really process.

A yearning on his heart. Not for the cock that was so deep and thick that it bulged the small being's frame, but because... the kiss. It was good. It was nice. He liked Bart's face close to his. The heat. His smell... sweet, strawberries. But mixed with a sweaty musk, very much tuned down from the bath. Kind of like a bear, he imagined. It fit him. And it sure beat the smell of grease and oil that permeated his lungs in the Workshop.

Was that...

No. He had just met this guy.

Well, 'this guy' was also balls deep on him, sloppily making out in the middle of the woods where no one could hear their quick ascent to something... more. More than just a casual hook up. Was the feeling mutual?

He didn't want to pull away to find out. Above all, he was too embarrassed to ask.

But he wasn't too embarrassed to wrap his legs around his waist, and start riding him on his own.

Despite what Bart believed, he sure lasted a lot more than 'one or two loads'.

The sky was painted pink when they were finished, purple and blue creeping in from the horizon. Rumble was dizzy, his legs weak, and despite his endurance training, even Bart could use a moment to rest.

Sitting down, he pulled out slowly, staring at Rumble. They hadn't eaten the whole day. They just fucked. And fucked. Lost in lust, and something more. Rumble looked about ready to crash - again. Bart was about the same, but he was also famished. And they were both covered in sweat, and bark from the tree that they had thoroughly scraped, and coated in the dirt stuck in said tree. He wouldn't be as careless as Rumble, who would happily just sleep like this.

Taking off the runt's shirt, which he had kept on during the intercourse to protect him from the coarse wood, he took him back to the lake. Washing thoroughly every thread of fur on his lover's body. Peppering him with kisses, while the runt attempted to flirt through his sleepy voice, barely making any sense.

This was so calming. After months, nay, years of yearning, of searching, he had found something - someone who calmed his weary heart. That made this journey... easier. Lighter. He knew it couldn't last, and that was the worst part of this... but he didn't want to dwell upon it.

After the both of them were, once again, properly cleaned, Bart went to search for food while Rumble slept. Night had fallen, but he was hungry, and his aim - impeccable.

Not with a bow and arrow, not even with a sling.

His axe, like many Yordles who had less of an affinity for magic itself, and more for creation, or destruction, had a connection with him. It helped that it was magically enhanced with an old enchantment, too.

From the darkness, the last feel of a wandering deer was the cold steel swiftly slicing its head clean off, and soon, silence.

Though the axe was blunted from slicing wood for so long, enough speed and a bit of unnatural help made it as deadly a weapon as any hunter's bow.

And with naught but a gesture, the axe returned to the wielder's hand, still dripping with blood.

Bartolomé had learned to live in the wilds, and to butcher on his own, and to cook with the help of many a helpful lady who he came across in his travels. After a small prayer to the Kindred Spirits, he dragged the carcass close by. Not too close, after all, he still wasn't exactly sure what wandered those woods, but he didn't want to risk having a freshly deceased deer so close to their 'camp'.

Good thing Rumble slept deeply, for the unsettling noises of a good butcher filled the night.

Rumble woke up not to the sun, but to smoke. Their makeshift campfire lit once again, beautifully cut and seasoned pieces of venison hanging over the fire, impaled on thick, sharpened sticks. Bartolomé was eating a piece that looked about done, if a little undercooked here or there.

"Did you... slaughter a cow while I wasn't looking?" Rumble asked while stretching, his legs sore, his hips sore, his ass sore, his very tongue sore. They kissed a lot.

"Haven't you ever eaten deer?" Bartolomé asked, after he was done chewing. He wasn't an animal.

"I barely even eat." Rumble spoke, uprooting one of the cooking sticks so he could safely get the meat, before digging in with his bare hands.

"...

I beg your pardon?"

"Thyen Berg?" Rumble said, looking up to Bart while digging into the fine piece. It was considerably harder to speak when eating a fat, juicy piece of meat rather than just... a whole ass rat.

"You barely eat? Is this... hyperbole?" That would explain so much.

"What? I live out of whatever rat happens to scurry by and whatever--"

"Rumble, tell me you are joking." His voice was calm, but it carried worry.

"I'm not! Why would I lie?"

"Rumble that could - it WILL kill you!"

"... no? I lived this way as long as I remember. I'll be fine."

The look of shock and horror on Bart's face would be priceless, if the facts were not so sad. "Rumble do you... want to learn how to hunt?"

"Why would I? I'm happy living this way. Beer and rats. Chips and cum. Ok no, I tried that before, chips and cum are actually disgusting."

"Rumble this is not the time."

"No, I mean it, that wasn't a joke."

"I... am aware now it wasn't a joke, but now isn't the time to talk about perversion, or about your current tastes. You need to get sustenance. You can't expect to... are you happy living this life?"

"Fuck no."

"Then why don't you change!"

" 'Cuz I'm ok living it."

"... I don't understand?"

"I, look, can't we just eat?"

"No."

"Ok. Fine. Look." Rumble finished his piece, before wiping the fat and blood on his own shirt. "I've lived this way as long as I can remember. And you know what? It isn't that bad. Sure my stomach hurts sometimes, sure I feel dizzy, but I make it work. I haven't died yet. I'll change when that happens."

"Rumble, that is... Rumble."

Despite being so careless, even the runt felt ashamed. The tone of voice from Bartolomé was not anger, it was sadness. It was hopeless. "W-what?"

"You have to change. You.. have to start living."

"Fine! Fine. Ok, let's say I start 'living'. Drinking water regularly, cooking actual meals, sleeping. So?"

"... WHAT DO YOU MEAN SO?!"

"I mean, how is th--"

"Rumble! YOU ARE MALNOURISHED! YOU ARE STARVING YOURSELF! YOU ARE DYING! Dying!" His eyes pierced the other, who, no matter how much he tried to dodge, always ended up feeling the deep red judging him.

"... I... ok, b... I... hrm. Ok. Ok, fine. I'll. Fine. Teach me how to... I guess stop, being this way. Teach me how to do stuff! I dunno! You don't expect me to just start doing shit, right?"

"I'll teach you, sweetie. We'll learn many things. Together."

What was supposed to be a simple night for Bart turned into a week of teaching, loving and embracing someone he didn't know he needed. Rumble, chaotic as he was, was also a safe port in a stormy life. He was rowdy, yes. Loud, braggadocious, mean, downright cruel at times. But like Bartolomé, he was lost. Instead of someone, he searched for something. Love, maybe? Someone to actually tell him what was wrong, and how to fix it. Guidance, then. Both? Neither. It was hard. Bartolomé was a warrior and a hard worker, not a philosopher. Though his thoughts often wandered into the realm of the Ionian masters, he was still just a man with a magical axe, and charm. 

Rumble... embraced that charm. Embraced the man who had that charm.

All Rumble wanted to - thought, all he wanted was just... the bare minimum. Casual sex. Barely eating. Barely drinking, and only cheap stuff. Working with literal garbage. Such was his life. Simplistic to a fault. And he liked it. In his head, he was superior for "thriving" where many would give up. It made him better than anyone! But as the week went on, Bartolomé showed him there was more to life than steel and pleasure. There was happiness, there was pride - not the pride Rumble swelled himself with, the bile that he promised to everyone was genuine, but the pride of catching his first prey, of cooking a good meal for once, of learning from a good teacher instead of his own sick mind. The joy of being able to appreciate a day not as twenty-four hours of hard work, but as fourteen of walking around, of casually chatting and reading, of cleaning his warehouse. Of...

Relaxing.

How nice life could be.

However, as the week came to a close, Rumble woke up to Bartolomé cooking. Wich was odd; Rumble was the one he made cook, not out of laziness, but to actually teach him how to make a meal instead of eating charred creatures with the skin still intact.

There was also the fact he was completely naked except for an apron. His clothes drying outside after washing them in the lake, Rumble presumed.

"So uh... someone woke up feeling something or...?" Rumble chuckled to himself. He was a little nervous. Sure, he had literally spent a single week with Bart, but this seemed out of character somehow.

"I wanted to do something nice before leaving."

"..."

Silence.

Just the sound of the fire, the crackle of fat as the rabbit cooked in a newly bought pan, and the wind.

"You..."

"I'm leaving. It's not your fault. It's... well, it's not mine, either. I have something to do, Rumble. I can't... stay."

"I, well, I mean... you sure? Y-you could just, crash here sometimes."

"Maybe. But I'm not sure I'll ever return here. I'm not even sure where I'll be tomorrow."

"So? Neither do I! Do you think I knew I'd be waking up to a thick ass yesterday? 'Cuz I sure didn't. I appreciate it but, ok, ok, sorry, I'm, ok I... do you really have to go now? It has just been a week."

"It's better this way. Too long, and... and I might not want to leave."

"Then don't?!"

"I'm looking for someone. And... they're in danger. They might be dead. They... I don't know. I just have to find them. I need closure, Rumble." He pulled out the pan from the fire, setting it down near the flames still.

Rumble's orange clashed with red, and both of them averted their gazes. It hurt to look. One didn't want to leave. The other didn't want to be left. And yet Rumble understood. And yet Bartolomé still felt in the wrong, somehow.

"... can you promise?"

"No."

"Can you at least say - pretend, you'll be back? Some day? With this person or their bones, whatever, just - please?"

"... I will try. I will try my best to find you again, Rumble."

The wanderer's hands reached down to wipe tears Rumble hadn't even realized he was shedding. He was on the verge of breaking down. Shaking, even.

"Rumble. My..." love? Love felt like such a strong word. But it also felt... right. He couldn't bring himself to say it, however. "Rumble. You... are strong. You survived so long, in so much pain. You grew, and you are better now. I.. all I ask is that you live. Without me. Find other people, like you found me. Find someone better, even. Live. As I will."

"I... ok."

Rumble pressed himself against Bartolomé, burying his head on the apron. Bartolomé took it off, and let Rumble's cheek rest against his bare chest. "I promise.. I promise I'll try." Now he was the one tearing up. They had been lovers for such a small amount of time, and yet it felt so... right.

"Goodbye, Rumble."

"Fuck you." The runt said, his grip tightening, tears now flowing.

"I know."

Rumble didn't dare raise his face to meet his lover's, so Bart kneeled. And raised the runt's chin, softly. Not forcing, suggesting. Rumble complied. Their eyes... met.

They shared a kiss, one last time before Bartolomé left the workshop.

Rumble sat outside for the rest of the day, a now-empty pan by his side.

Part of him hoped the giant would appear on the horizon, declaring that he changed his mind.

Yet, in this short time...

He knew he wouldn't.

Bartolomé marched as if he hoped to outrun something. The very concept of guilt weighing him down, clawing at his ankles. He didn't want to leave Rumble. He hoped to look over his shoulder and see the runt tailing him, but he knew Rumble wouldn't. He was an inventor. Bartolomé was an adventurer, and one on a mission. They simply couldn't live together.

Not until his quest was done.

So they were separated.


End file.
